The story of Sherlock and Molly
by Rose Valerie
Summary: " Molly's life changed that ordinary Saturday. That day was the day that Molly Hooper fell in love. " The story of how an ordinary girl falls for a not-so-ordinary guy. Just my Sherlolly fantasy. Will have multiple chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Molly Hooper had had boyfriends in the past.

They'd mostly been alright, but it had never lasted too long. And afterward Molly always realised that she hadn't really loved them. It felt like she'd never truly loved anyone. She had cared for people, but she had never been deeply in love. There had never been any desperate crazy, burning desire to talk again, no pain when he left her at the end of a date.

Molly had even almost come to terms with the fact that she would never _really _fall fast in love, she was doomed to be single.

It had started as an ordinary day. Molly had been working at the morgue, as she usually did. She could've done something else on Saturday, but had nothing planned. Most of her time was spent at anyway.

Molly's life changed that ordinary Saturday. That day was the day that Molly Hooper fell in love.

She wouldn't have heard him sweep into the morgue if it hadn't been so quiet- it always was with only dead bodies for company.

"I need to see a woman by the name of Shirley Wright."

Molly jumped, the scalpel she'd been holding fell to the ground with a loud clatter.

"H-how did you get in here?" she managed to stammer before she turned around.

Molly turned around to see the most….inhuman looking human she'd even seen. Surely he couldn't be real. No one looked like this, no one- not even the airbrushed men in glossy magazines- was this flawless.

She was looking up into the face of an angel, surely. He was almost a foot taller than her, and had raven black curls and shocking blue eyes. He had such sharp cheekbones. Molly was overcome with a sudden urge to reach out and touch he face, or brush back a strand of his hair.

The tall dark angel chose to ignore her. "The woman, Shirley Wright, is she in here?"

"How did you get in here?" Molly asked. Supposing this man was real, and not one of Molly's fantasies. He would never have been able to get in here.

"Miss Hooper," the man said in an incredibly low voice, "A man's life depends on this. I would like to see the body, if it's not two much trouble." The last words were said with sarcasm.

Molly suddenly realised that he knew her name. How? Unconsciously she reached for the plastic name tag pinned slightly above her left breast. Of course.

"Um, yes, she's in here. I'll take you to her." Molly found herself giving in, even though she knew nothing about this man, aside for his inhuman beauty.

"Just one more thing," Molly said, before reaching the body of the woman. "What's your name?" she asked as boldly as she could.

The man paused. "Sherlock Holmes."

That was the beginning of it all. That was the day that Molly Jane Hooper fell in love.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

**A/N: Okay, since I wrote this last night, I kinda forgot to put an author's note. **

**Disclaimer: Moffat and Gatiss are evil geniuses who seem to enjoy giving the fandom heart failure. I am not them. I do not own BBC Sherlock (nor am I Arthur Conan Doyle writing from the grave). **

Sherlock Holmes visited the Morgue lots of times after that.

For the first time going to work was something more for Molly. Before that she hadn't cared much- it was her job and half of her life, simply because there was nothing else to do. Now when Molly Hooper went to work there was always the little added excitement that Sherlock might sweep into the Morgue.

Molly begun to work later shifts- from 6:30 until sometimes as late as 10pm. She always hoped Sherlock would show up, and when he did Molly was prepared to do almost _anything _for him.

She would gladly make him coffee- which she learned he took black with two sugars. Molly would fetch him things- a test tube for one of his crazy experiments or a scalpel when he felt in the mood to cut up dead bodies. She had even been asked to pass him his phone from his pocket on occasion.

Gradually over the months that passed, Molly Hooper got to know Sherlock Holmes. Although she wasn't as good at deductions as Sherlock himself was, Molly did notice little things, things that other people would often miss. She felt special knowing how Sherlock took his coffee and every detail of his perfect face was permanently etched into her mind.

They rarely spoke, however much Molly wanted to. Usually if Sherlock wasn't asking Molly to fetch him things or make him coffee he was ignoring her. He did sometimes though say such strange things- things that he seemed to think on a whim.

Such was today.

Sherlock had come into the Morgue and Molly had been thrilled as usual. He'd been running some experiments on one of the bodies, and was now apparently doing some research on the computer. Except he hadn't moved from the position he was in for half an hour- his hands were pressed under his chin in prayer position and his eyes were closed. He sat with his back away from Molly.

However much Molly wanted to talk to him, she got on with her work. Molly hadn't noticed but as she'd been bending over a corpse her hair had come lose from its usual ponytail. Her hair now hung lose across her face, but Molly had become so absorbed in her work that she had hardly noticed.

At that exact moment Sherlock Holmes turned around. He had located the exact scrap of information from his mind palace and was ready to leave to morgue.

He finished up making a few notes, and then looked up at Molly.

"Your hair- it's not tied up. It wasn't like that before."  
Molly blushed.

"I-it must've just come lose…" she stammered, reaching into her lab coat pocket to draw out a spare elastic hair tie and began to tie her think chestnut hair up.

Sherlock Holmes noticed that Molly Hooper had nice hair. "Don't tie it- it's looks better down."

Molly left her hair down.

Sherlock swept out of the Morgue, long coat billowing behind him.

From then on Molly wore her hair down at work everyday.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

Today Sherlock had come to the morgue to test the bruising on dead flesh.

He bent over the corpse, unzipping the black body bag. "How fresh?" he asked.

"Just in," Molly replied "67 natural causes. Used to work here…I knew him, he was nice." Molly smiled fondly.

"Right we'll start with the riding crop."

Five minutes later Molly was watching Sherlock whacking the corpse of the man. It didn't look pleasant, he seemed more vicious than usual.

Molly went down to see him, "So, bad day was it?" She said, trying to keep her tone simple and cheery.

Sherlock ignored her. "I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes….a man's alibi depends on it. Text me."

Sherlock began to make frantic notes in the little leather bound notebook he carried everywhere. Molly took a deep breath. She'd been planning to ask for a while now.

"Listen….I was wondering maybe later-"

Sherlock cut her off. "Are you wearing lipstick? You weren't wearing lipstick before."

Molly blushed, as she seemed to be doing so often around Sherlock. "I, er, I refreshed it a bit," she replied, hoping she sounded as casual as possible.

Sherlock gave her a very strange look that Molly wasn't sure how to interpret. "Sorry, you were saying…" he went back to making frantic notes.

Molly took a deep breath. She wasn't going to back out now.

"I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee?"

Sherlock snapped the notebook shut. "Black, two sugars please, I'll be upstairs."

He left Molly alone in the room. "Okay.." she sighed to no one but herself.

It was a little known fact that Molly Hooper seldom cried. No one would've thought it, because she was so quiet and timid usually. She was usually strong. Usually when she was sad she would simply burry her face behind her hands and wait for the awful feeling to pass.

Molly did this now, slumping down on the floor against one of the slabs which held bodies. She knew it was stupid to get worked up over Sherlock- a man she didn't stand a chance with. She could feels tears brimming behind her eyes, but then Molly stopped herself.

She couldn't break down. Not here, not at work. At home she could get in and sob her heart out in the shower. She just had to hold out until the end of the day.

Molly stood up, straightened her lab coat and went to make Sherlock his wretched coffee.


	4. Chapter 4

Life went on. Sherlock had found a new flatmate, a retired army doctor named John Watson. Sherlock continued to visit the morgue, but occasionally John came with him if it wasn't the odd hours of the night. John was nice. He was a nice, sensible, kind man….almost the polar opposite of Sherlock. Molly often wondered how to two could share a flat together at all, but despite their differences they seemed to get on. John was the kind of man who was right for Molly. They got on a friends, to the onlooker their personalities were perfectly matched. Molly knew she was supposed to fall for men like John, sensible, polite men. But she didn't feel anything more than friendship. She seemed to be attracted to dangerous, mysterious people. People like Sherlock. Sherlock came to the morgue less and less now. Molly wondered if it was a lack of cases, or because of John. She knew many people questioned their relationship- and if there was something more, but Molly knew Sherlock. He wasn't that kind of person. She didn't know about John Watson. 


End file.
